Classic Poem

God 's mercy is in the pure beam of Spring:
The gale of morning is His blessed breath,
Cheering created things, that as they drink
At these low founts of intermitting joy
Their souls may bless Him, and with quicken'd thirst
Pant for the river of life, and light of heaven.
O, sun-bright gleams, and ye unfolding depths
Of azure space, what are ye but a pledge
And precious foretaste of that cloudless day,
Gladdening at intervals the good man's heart
With earnest of infinitude? The while
He on his rugged path moves cheerily,
Toward joys that mock the measuring eye of hope,
As yon abyss ethereal mocks our gaze.